An Interlude of Sorts
by barefootbean
Summary: With Estelle as their guide, unsurprisingly, it was how their reunions always began.


_Written for a wonderful person on tumblr. Intended Ristelle, though this more than likely could also be read platonically._

* * *

There were nerves fluttering about where they shouldn't be.

It wasn't to say she was nervous exactly, hands brushing over herself to make her at least somewhat presentable, running fingers through her hair for the first time in days, making sure there wasn't too much dirt on her blouse—but really, she _was _feeling a bit queasy, admittedly—as there was something despairingly terrifying about watching the servants pass by her seating arrangement, and knowing that soon, they wouldn't be casting her shrewd glances out of the corner of their eyes, but looks of confusion when Estelle would run to hug her, pink hair bobbing behind her, summertime dress billowing out like some absurd cape a small child would wear before thin arms would tangle tight around a very stiff and red figure. Rita would choke, splutter a bit, and when the burning in her cheeks would fade down to only a slight warmth that she always had in her majesty's presence, the servants would fawn lost interest and take the hint that staring really wasn't that necessary—and then all at once before Rita would even so much as manage to formulate a greeting, they would be off, arm in arm, out the castle door, down the cobblestone stairs and blooming flower beds of roses and daffodils and other plants suited for royalty—and into the free streets beyond.

With Estelle as their guide, unsurprisingly, it was how their reunions always began. A quiet stroll from the royal quarter to below where the heart of the capital lurked, merchants and marketers and imperial knights a smooth blend of citizenry in the crowds they mingled with. It was always overwhelming to Estelle, no matter how many times Rita took her out of her prison, she would cling to Rita's arm and rattle about how nice the air was, how the people looked so happy, and that the sky was a marvelous shade of blue today and the bakery down the street was making her stomach growl. Rita would agree, glare at anyone who dared raise their eyebrows at the two of them, and feeling the same nausea that had threatened her from earlier double with the swarm of heat from the summertime breezes flowing through the city and her own permanent tinted cheeks, Rita would take the lead, and in the comforts of a little pastry shop where the owner was as old if not older than the bricks that made up the place, Estelle would finally calm herself, order something divine and oozing with sweetness, and Rita would watch in a manner that wasn't quite rueful, but somehow managed to be that, too.

Estelle was Estelle, bubbly warmth and flower dresses and bright pink hair that was soft to the touch, and Rita was Rita—grimy and dirty and hardly suitable for a princess, but still somehow looked upon as someone to be deemed a camaraderie in arms. Even after two years of the ongoing process, Rita would have thought she'd have figured everything out by now.

But Estelle was Estelle, and fully developed senses weren't always a necessity when it came to her. Especially when it came to her. No, forever indefinitely.

As if Rita had spoken aloud, Estelle poked her under their shared table with a foot, smiling brightly, head tilted to the side a bit as if there was something she wanted to say but was hoping a look would be enough to say it all. Unsurprisingly, Rita knew all her looks, the ones that said 'I don't understand' and the ones that said 'This is what I want', but this was a new one that set her in a frown. Too thoughtful. Too pensive looking. Too curious and sobering too quickly, and suddenly, the queasiness was back in her stomach, ill at ease and holding tight, and Rita wasn't sure what she was supposed to expect.

Than Estelle smiled again, her delighted smile that was just for her, and Rita found herself returning it.

Her cheeks hurt to do it – she snarled far too often for it to ever bring her anything good – but the gesture brought a startling amount of satisfaction when she'd finished, and suddenly, feeling a little lighter in her seat, a little more elated than she usually felt in the presence of anyone that wasn't Estelle, Rita thought the view across from her with sunshine strands was quite nice, too.


End file.
